And All That's Left Here Are Echoes
by Holz090
Summary: Carla stays at Michelle's after her arrest.
1. Chapter 1

She paced the floor of Michelle's flat, steadying herself occasionally against the sofa, attempting to appear as sober as it's possible to appear when you've just come from a police cell in a pair of ripped tights and bruises all over your arms.

The dirt and grime still clung to her, the smell of things she'd rather not think about seemingly following her around. She scratched her arms subconsciously, as though she could claw away the inches of slime that existed only in her mind.

"D'ya want a coffee?" Michelle's tone said it all: She was appalled. She had no idea what to say or how to treat this drunken mess in front of her. She was resenting being woken at this ungodly hour and resenting the current situation even more, and Carla didn't blame her at all. She merely shook her head, scared to speak in case her words were still slurred, and not wanting to admit that the mere though of consuming anything right now brought bile to her throat.

Her former sister-in-law sighed, disappearing into the bedroom for a few moments before returning with a blanket, which she threw half-halfheartedly onto the sofa. "It's not all that warm I'm afraid but..."

"I'm sorry, 'Chelle" Carla heard herself croak. She barely recognised the voice she was hearing as her own.

The other woman perched on the arm of the sofa, gesturing Carla to sit. "Drunk and disorderly Carla, I mean... What happened?"

She flopped herself down onto the sofa, causing the room to spin wildly as she did so. Her stomach churned, she was going to be sick. "They just..." She sighed, trying to distract herself from the violent urge to heave. "I dunno I... I didn't get into a fight or anything, it..." Her head pounded now, her urge to hurl slowly being overcome by a desire to pass out.

How could she tell the one person who'd stood by her throughout this last year of hell that merely being here was driving her mad? That every cobble and every piece of furniture in the flat or the office reminded her of him in one way or other? How could she explain that she heard his voice echoing around every room and saw his face every time she dares to try to sleep for even a moment? And most importantly right now, how could she possibly tell her that she had absolutely no memory of anything past sitting in a back alley with a bottle of Jack Daniels like some out of control teenager?

'So mature. She scolded herself in her head. 'things go wrong so you drown yourself in booze as per. You're not 18 any more, time to get a grip, time to move on. It was over a year ago, so much has happened since then. It's time to move on.

And she had done, back in LA. When she was away from all those memories, when there was enough sea and sand and cityscape to distract her, when she could throw herself into helping Peter recover and forget about her own excuse for a life. But from the moment Peter had eagerly announced a trip home for Christmas, she'd been right back there again. It may as well have been the day after it had happened, it all felt suddenly so fresh and so vivid. Memories she'd suppressed for months, feelings she'd hidden, pushed away for so long had all just hit her all over again, and she felt paralyzed by the sheer force.

And how could she tell her that simply by doing what she'd relied on her to do, looking after her business, taking charge, she'd left her feeling isolated and adrift, as though there was no place for her there anymore, as if the world had just moved on and forgotten about her?

Michelle moved closer, taking hold her of hand, and Carla hated herself for the bolt of fear that shot through her as she felt herself being held. She felt her hand shaking and wondered if she could blame the booze, and which would be worse. "Well...You must've done something to end up in the back of a police car".

"I was just walking, I don't..." She sighed, "Apparently being drunk in a public place after a certain time is frowned upon. I told them they should take a trip to our old estate with a couple of vans and arrest half the population!" She tried to joke but she Michelle didn't react. "Anyway, next thing I know I'm being physically thrown into a scummy cell like some kind of..." She ran her free hand through her hair, lost for words. "I don't even know what. And I'm just sat there wondering how I ever got here. Michelle I was mortified!"

"We found the vodka bottle in the office" Michelle replied bluntly.

"It weren't full!" She tried to defend herself, as though it mattered which side of a sporadic excuse for a night's sleep she'd started and finished the bottle. She leaned her head back against the sofa: the room was spinning again.

There was an awkward pause as both women sat, unable to think of a single word that might make any of this better, before Michelle eventually broke the silence. "Do you want me to phone Peter?"

"No!" She barely skipped a beat. "No please, look... He's fuming at me as it is, not that I blame him. Oh god those things I said to Leanne... To Simon...". She saw Michelle's eyes dart awkwardly downwards and squirmed at the memory. Fighting in the street with your boyfriend's ex-wife, how classy. Saying anything and everything to provoke a reaction. And a reaction she'd got. 'Oh god...' she murmured. 'They all saw, didn't they? The factory lot, Rob, Peter, Steve... Mr Packham... That's me banned from the school, then," A tremor of panic shot through her as she wondered how she would ever explain any of this to Peter. He'd go mad. He'd wonder why he ever left his saint of a wife to shack up with some selfish, car crash of a lush.

"Don't worry about that, now" Michelle tried to soothe her. "Look," she stood up, moving a cushion from the chair in the corner onto the sofa to be used as a pillow. "Get some rest. We'll sort everything else out tomorrow".

Carla looked up through watery eyes as Michelle turned to walk to her bedroom. "Thank you". Her host didn't reply, merely turning her head to offer a weak smile in return.


	2. Chapter 2

This has taken me far too long to update, mainly because I deleted it twice and left it far too long in between. The result is a slightly rushed, far from brilliant conclusion, but I needed to get this finished while there was still an ounce of potential interest. I've ended up going in a completely different direction to where I thought I would at the start, but I hope I've done people's views of this scene at least some justice.

Thanks for all the reviews from the first part, they're always appreciated.

* * *

The taste of stale whiskey on her breath, the cotton-wool head that felt like it would explode any moment, the dullness in the pit of her stomach, every muscle aching in sheer exhaustion. Death would have been less painful, and right now, the more attractive of the two options. Carla forced herself to sit up, the sunlight through the open curtains burning her eyes, a violent reminder that, sadly, life goes on.

The sound of Michelle's bedroom door clicking open, seemingly twenty-odd decibels louder than usual, forced her to physically jolt in shock, and it was only at this moment that it dawned on her that Michelle did not live alone. She found herself holding her breath as a figure emerged, praying under her breath for it not to be her 20-year old nephew or her best friend's boyfriend.

"Morning" Michelle smiled in a faux-cheerful tone as Carla exhaled deeply in relief. "How's the head?"

Carla said nothing in response, bringing on hand upwards to rub one eyebrow, behind which a marching band appeared to have begun a no doubt lengthy set. She turned to her face her friend, unable to think of a word to say that might make her feel any less guilty, or any less awkward. Eventually she swung one leg underneath her, twisting her body round to face the other woman. "'Chelle I'm really sorry about last night..." She started, her voice still croaky.

Michelle smiled pityingly, temporarily abandoning the two mugs she'd placed beside the boiling kettle to join her former sister-in-law on the sofa. "Forget it" She told her, matter-of-factly. She took hold of her hand, looking her straight in the eye now. "I just don't understand how it got to that point in the first place, Car. And driving to the school drunk, I mean..."

Carla sighed. She wasn't going to get off with this this lightly, not that she thought she deserved to. "I know" she replied, looking at the ground. "I don't know how I'm gonna face Peter".

"He'll understand". Michelle had never been a convincing liar.

"Is Ryan in?" Carla asked, changing the subject quickly.

Michelle seemed to take the bait. "No, he's at a mate's. Probably best off all round."

"Right, yeah". She wasn't sure whether the other woman's comment had meant to sound as it did, but either way she was probably right. Michelle stood to finish making the tea, as Carla let her head fall back against the headrest of the sofa, letting out a sigh, slowly, like air from a tyre.

"Do you take sugar?" Michelle called out. Her innocent question said it all. How long had they know each other, how long had they drunk tea and coffee together for, and yet she leaves for a few months and her supposed best friend can't even remember whether she takes sugar. She replied no, her voice quiet and mumbled, hoping her feelings may be portrayed in her tone although knowing perfectly well they wouldn't be. It wasn't her fault, they'd barely spoken for months and they hadn't exactly parted on good terms. But still, the sudden realization of just how far they'd drifted apart still stung.

Michelle placed a teaspoon down on the kitchen counter, the metallic clink seeming to echo through the room, before bringing both mugs back over to the sofa. Seemingly oblivious to the gulf which to Carla was obvious, she handed her friend her mug, before swinging her legs round to face her once more.

"You never did tell me what happened". She placed her mug on the table in front of them before taking Carla's hand in a manner that she knew a few months ago would have felt so comforting and meaningful, yet now felt like nothing but an act of habit, an empty gesture, something which you just do. Carla wondered if her former sister-in-law felt it too, or whether they'd drifted so far apart that she no longer even noticed how distant and alone she felt.

"I told you," Carla answered, turning away from her friend. "They picked me up in some... Some street somewhere and threw me in a cell".

"Yes, but why?"

"Because I was drunk" She replied, dismissively. She sipped the tea: weak, too much milk.

Michelle shifted awkwardly in her seat, and as much as she tried to do it subtly, Carla saw her glance at the clock. She was holding her up, she had to get to work. Back to running _her _business, the one she'd just dumped on her with a second's notice to go on the run with her alcoholic boyfriend all those months ago. The one she'd made a better job of running in 4 months than she had herself in 5 years. The one she should be focusing on now, rather than being thrown in cells and picking fights in the street.

"No you... You know what I mean" she continued, moving closer so that now their shoulders almost touched.

Carla felt her eyes burn as she fought back tears. She wished with every fibre of her being that she could feel comforted by this gesture, that she could feel able to open up to her as she had done so many times before. But somehow she just couldn't: too much had changed, too much had happened since. And besides, how could she ever expect her to understand something she couldn't even understand herself? How could she explain the flashbacks, the looming sense of dread, the isolation? She'd seen Michelle struggle enough to comprehend the effects of the rape right after it had happened, let alone over a year later. She couldn't burden her with this, not again. "It's just being back here, Michelle" she eventually replied. "I just... There's just too much, too many bad memories, I can't..." She sighed, turning to face the other woman. "I just can't be here, I'm sorry".

Michelle's face fell into an expression Carla could only read as pity. She put her arm around her friend and squeezed her close, as though she still had the ability to pacify her.

It was the sigh that killed Carla most. A sigh of supposed sympathy indistinguishable from disappointment and lowered expectation. She could practically hear Michelle's thoughts in her head: '_Here we go again. She's a mess and I have to pick up the pieces again. Can't she just shake herself out of this already?'_. She squirmed in Michelle's grip, until she eventually released her.

"Then you have to tell Peter, darling". Michelle's words broke her thoughts so suddenly she almost physically jumped from the chair, before slumping back down again.

"Tell him what? That despite the fact that the whole point in us going away in the first place was to make sure he could fight for his son, actually I can't stay here and he has to choose between us?" Carla shrugged, defeated. "I can't ask him to chose, Michelle. He'll choose his son, of course he will, anyone would. And should" She added the final words quickly.

"You don't know that..." Michelle tried to reason, unconvincingly. She knew as well she did did that this was how it would happen.

"I do. And even if I'm wrong, even if he did _choose me,_ how could I live with that? How could _he_ live with that? I've already destroyed his family, ruined Simon's life... I can't take

his father away from him as well".

Michelle said nothing, not that she needed to. It was time to face facts, to accept the thing she'd spent the last week hiding from. It was her, not her lover, who had the decision to make.


End file.
